Defiance and Dignity
by korben600
Summary: Weiss Schnee has had to weather her father's abuses for too long, so she took matters into her own hands. Her father might be just as terrible of a person as he is in canon, but luckily for the Schnee heiress, Ironwood might be just a bit better...


**This has been one of the hardest fics to write for me. Not for my sake, but for the sake of not demeaning those who actually experience things like this. I had a lot of doubts about posting this. But this story has languished in my files long enough. This fic is not meant to be explicitly endorsing any of the actions of the characters in this. I have no clue how someone is supposed to act in a situation like this. But let me just say, since watching RWBY Volume 4, I think I speak for everyone that no matter if this is the right, or legal course of action, we all kind of wanted to see something like this from Ironwood during the Atlas arc.**

 **This actually isn't during Volume 4, it's an AU with this taking place** ** _long_** **before the White Trailer, and I...actually have a few more ideas for this. I might continue this Atlas AU if anyone wants more of it.**

 **Warning: Depictions of abuse.**

* * *

The sound echoed across the entire room.

A slap. Louder than it had any right to be. A backhand slap powerful enough to stun a normal man. But the girl bore it quietly. Not passively, nobody watching would dare call her passive, for the girl's glare held her father's gaze with the intensity reserved for soldiers. But quietly, as the entire room watched as a bruise blossomed out across the girl's pale face in slow motion, a product of the burst blood vessels beneath the surface.

In the corner of the room, a man dressed in white, formal, military regalia gripped his glass tighter, as he analyzed exactly the wrong things about what just occurred. General Ironwood knew that she could've dodged the slap. He personally taught her how to dodge basic attacks like that. At the very least, she could've rolled with the slap, minimizing damage, or if her neck was looser, the blow would've spun her head involuntarily. But she hadn't done either. She stood tall, as firm as any of the walls of the mansion they stood in, and took the hit with all of its force, barely moving except to keep from falling over from the blow.

Ironwood realized that this was not merely some fight that Weiss had picked. This was a show, possibly the biggest show in her young career. She didn't want to minimize damage. She wanted to be struck, publicly, and obviously. She wanted to be hit hard enough that the damn foundations of this building couldn't ignore what her own father had just done.

Jacques had clearly done this before, how many times, he didn't know. But as he looked on, Ironwood began to reexamine his interactions with the Schnee family, how Winter shunned the palace that was her ancestral home, how Weiss and Whitley would flinch every time their father turned towards them, how in school, Weiss was constantly having trouble with her aura levels, like her soul itself was working overtime to heal something that was deeper than the damage she got from training. Around him Ironwood could feel others around him coming to the same conclusions. That's when he remembered a very important fact. This ball was televised. Live. His eyes flew to the edges of the ballroom.

Thirteen cameras in that room from various Atlesian news networks, at least 4 capturing that blow, and dozens of separate witnesses, most of whom had scrolls out recording as well. Most would chalk that much preparation in her plan to Weiss's perfectionism. A backup plan for her backup plan. As her father doubled over his throbbing hand, the product of daring to strike a huntress-in-training with something as fragile as his own limb, Jacques Schnee realized how public his attack was as the cameras flashed. How his reputation would never recover. How everyone would be forced to realize exactly what kind of a person he was behind closed doors. He realized that there was no way out for him from this. What Ironwood realized as the cameras flashed was something different.

Weiss was desperate.

It sickened him to say that it wasn't the blow that made him realize that. As cynical it was for him to think, this had happened before. Jacques had probably, no he had definitely done this for years, and he hadn't been caught. He wouldn't harm his daughter in such a public area unless Weiss goaded him into it. Not just something insolent, or something needling, it had to be something that would truly infuriate Jacques. If he really thought on it, as someone who knew Jacques well, Ironwood would probably be able to make a reasonable guess as to what it was. But quite frankly, he didn't care.

Jacques hit his daughter. It didn't matter what she said. He hit his daughter, and he had been doing it for a very long time. That was unforgivable. But Ironwood was more concerned about Weiss.

She had orchestrated this charade, this show, to destroy any and all future credibility her father had. Nothing was more important to Weiss than her name, but she was willing to throw away her old life, her entire career, and her family's name, to expose her father's abuse. Everything that meant anything to her was discarded in seconds, just to spite him.

Ironwood was not a people kind of person. He was not very good at communicating, and despite being the headmaster of one of the largest and most important schools on Remnant, he had some shameful pitfalls when it came to understanding and connecting with adolescents.

But despite this, he knew Weiss. Winter often spoke of her highly, and when he visited Schnee Manor, he would tutor the young huntress. He could see the desperation in Weiss's stance, her slightly shaking knees that continued to shake despite how high she held her head. He could tell that this was her hail mary, that if nothing happened after this, she would be out of options. Ironwood had seen this desperation before. Usually on men who chose to not see the end of the week. With dawning concern, Ironwood realized what would happen next. Weiss had just given up almost everything to bring her father down. Not everything. Not yet. But Ironwood had a disgusting feeling that she would. After all, what better way to destroy her father's reputation than for his abused daughter to...give up.

His grip on the champagne glass tightened more, his metal prosthetic making hairline fractures on the fragile object.

Finally, the scrolls began to stop recording. The people began to look away. Weiss's vicious bruise started to slowly recede from her aura's attempt to heal her. And as her father reached for her, for whatever reason she couldn't bear to care about anymore, her stoic face began to fall. She wasn't entirely sure what she had expected to come of that. Well, she knew how the various news stations would distribute the video of the assault, she knew of how stocks would fall when they learned that the Schnee Dust Company was headed by an abusive reprobate, but the immediate aftermath? Of what random bystanders in the crowd would do seeing a father assault his daughter? She hadn't bothered to speculate. After all, it didn't matter to her plan. She gripped tightly the vial wrapped in her palm. Her way out. Her true way to ensure her father's destruction. Her plan lay in that vial. Not in the people in this ballroom.

But as her father's hand approached, and her eyes became wetter, she realized that in her heart of hearts, maybe she had hoped for something to happen, for anything to happen. It figured though. As if anyone cared about Weiss Schn-

Somewhere in the crowd a glass shattered.

"Don't move."

The familiar voice rumbled like an earthquake across the crowded room.

Weiss whirled around to see the General aiming his pistol at her father. The people milling about moved, clearing a path between them. All conversation had stopped once more, just like when she had first been struck. A tension filled the air in a way only a drawn weapon can, with everyone besides Ironwood on hair-triggers. The partygoers were all waiting, judging, whether to run, fight, or something in between. But despite all of that, Weiss still couldn't help the small grin that came to her battered face.

"Now, James, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of-"

"Shut. Up."

If the growling words had not convinced him of the severity of his situation, the audible, metallic click that his gun made when being cocked was more convincing. Jacques knew from experience that the weapon was not for show.

A small movement of Ironwood's fingers not concerned with operating his revolver was enough to grab the attention of the robotic soldiers he had provided to the party who were milling on the edges of the crowd.

"Arrest him."

The robots began to walk over to Jacques.

Ironwood lowered his gun and began to walk over to Weiss, gently putting himself between her and her father. He held up a hand to her, which she gracefully accepted after stuffing something into her pocket. He then began to lead her through the crowd, forcefully nudging those who got too close to her.

"You can't do this James..." Jacques said with growing anger as the robots began to grab his hands, "This is a family affair!"

"If he resists" Ironwood said over his shoulder, "treat him as an enemy combatant"

The robots started grabbing him more forcefully, wrenching his arms behind his back into handcuffs. As the severity of his situation began to sink in, he began to yell even more loudly.

"I CAN DO WHAT I WANT WITH HER, SHE'S MY DAUGHTER!"

Ironwood paused at the doorway to the ballroom, with Weiss's hand still in his. She fearfully looked up to him, eyes terrified that he might take her back, but he gave it a reassuring squeeze, then glared back at Jacques, through the path he cleared for her.

"Not anymore."

He walked out, with Weiss in tow, as Jacques screamed in anger, and kept walking until his voice faded into the distance.

Eventually, they left the manor grounds and stopped in front of Ironwood's personal bullhead. Weiss had been quiet the entire walk, and Ironwood was getting a bit concerned. He let go of her hand as he opened the bullhead, and finally got a good look at his student. Her makeup was marred with silent tears, and for the briefest of seconds he was worried that he had done the wrong thing, before he was nearly tackled by the hug she gave him.

He didn't know what to do, so he just gently held her as she cried into his shoulder.

"Ms. Schnee." he began uncertainly as she kept crying, "I do not know what permanent accommodations you will have, but rest assured that you will never have to live with that man again."

Her sobbing increased in volume, for minutes, and James continued to try to awkwardly comfort her. Eventually, her sobbing began to taper off slightly. Enough for her to barely speak through the crying, in a whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

"Thank you"


End file.
